I wouldn’t call myself a Scrooge, but I guess I’m kind of a Scrooge.
I hate cheesy Christmas songs and any holiday movie that’s described as “heartwarming.” I enjoy Christmas decorations, as long as they lack Santa Claus or snowmen or anything else that should be reserved for children. I like giving gifts, but I hate the anxiety of opening my own and wondering if my smile showed enough appreciation.
But one thing I always looked forward to, for no reason that made sense whatsoever, was visiting New York City to see the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.
Although my distaste for cheesy holiday happenings is only equaled by my hatred of the rotting garbage, dirty subway and gray background of New York City, during one visit every December, I relish in it all.
Life Aboard the Traveling Circus 